Denial II
by WastingYourGum
Summary: Continuing the AU rewrite started in Denial. Denial II will run from the end of 2x13 to the start of 3x01. Guy and Vaizey have fled, taking Marian's "body" with them. Allan lies seriously wounded, having finally shown where his true loyalties lie...
1. Saving Allan

**Welcome back!**

If you are really curious as to how we journeyed to this point, delve into **_Denial_**. But you don't _have _to read those chapters, which cover the time from 2x08 to 2x13. Here are all the things you need to know to enjoy _DII_:

- At the end of 2x08, Much returned with Carter to the Holy Land as his squire, a knight-in-training.

- Much and Carter have become lovers but Robin's appearance in the Holy Land has reminded Much how close he and Robin used to be.

- Thanks to Djaq's skills and a blood donation from Little John, Legrand survived the attack in 2x11 and became part of the gang, taking over from Much as camp cook. Much to his surprise, as Legrand recuperated, he found himself falling for the man whose blood he now shares.

- John is unsettled by Legrand's attention, not in the least because, to _his _surprise, he's discovered he's not _completely _opposed to the idea.

- Djaq and Will were married by Robin in the barn in Nettlestone and Djaq is expecting Will's child.

- Allan left Nottingham with Team Leather in an effort to protect Marian from a much-darker-than-the-series-Vaizey. He escaped the sheriff's clutches and returned to help the gang during the attempt on King Richard's life at the deserted village.

- Guy protected both Marian and Allan from Vaizey on the journey to the Holy Land.

- During the attack, Much saved Carter from Vaizey's sword. Marian was knocked unconscious by Guy when she came between him and King Richard. Allan was seriously injured defending her and the king.

As we open _**Denial II**_, Gisborne and Vaizey have fled with Marian's body, Robin and the rest of the gang think Marian is dead and Allan is lying in the town square breathing his last...

* * *

**Characters/Pairings**: Allan, Will/Djaq, Robin, Little John, Legrand, Much/Carter, Richard  
**Rating**:PG-13  
**Genre**: Drama  
**Warnings:** none really...  
**Disclaimer**: BBC & TA own; we just want to play in their universe  
**Notes**: Takes place at the end of AU 2x13.

**Summary**: Allan was seriously wounded defending Marian and King Richard from Guy's attack. Can Djaq save him?

* * *

**Chapter 1: Saving Allan  
**by**  
****DarkenTwisted, JAGNikJen, Perteltote, RobinFanatic & WastingYourGum**

**~~~O~~~  
**

It had come down to a scene so unimaginable that no one dared move. Djaq cradled Allan's head in her arms. He lay unconscious, his tunic red, soaked with blood that trickled into the hot desert sands. Will had one hand on Djaq's shoulder, the other propping the sword that pierced Allan's gut. Legrand and Carter stood on either side of King Richard. The Lionheart remained stone-faced, masking his own pain from the arrow that nearly took his life. As soldiers, they'd each seen comrades fall time and again but it was the look on Much's face, the glistening of Little John's eyes, as the two men looked from Allan to Robin that brought the ugly truth home to them all.

Robin stared past them, despondent, as the dust settled where Vaizey and Gisborne had fled on horseback with Marian's body. He'd lost her...again.

And Allan A'Dale lay dying, taking a sword meant for the king. Allan, whom they'd despised.

"Is there nothing we can do for him?" Legrand asked.

Robin shook his head. "We can't move him to get him to the healer's tent. The sword is too heavy. If it moves...he dies."

"What if the sword doesn't move?" John answered, almost unthinking.

"That would be impossible. It would take..." Djaq's face brightened. "It would take two men of great strength to hold him and the sword steady while we moved him."

Legrand smiled at his companions. "He will die here if we do nothing, _mes amis_. Let us try. Will - can you fetch my armour from that house, please?"

Will nodded and ran off.

Djaq pulled off her head scarf and wrapped both Allan and the sword as much as possible and directed John and Legrand on how they should hold him. Will and Much would take turns holding the sword.

Will returned with Legrand's chain hauberk slung over his shoulder and wearing a broad smile. "Look what I found." He stepped aside to reveal a small cart.

"You didn't just _make _that, did you?" Much asked wide-eyed.

Will smiled. "No, Much, I didn't - but it had a broken wheel which I fixed. That's probably why it was left here."

"Thank you, my love - that will make things so much easier - and so much safer for Allan." Djaq orchestrated the entire operation as Allan was carefully lifted onto the cart and placed on his side.

Slowly and carefully they made their way across the desert. Since they no longer had to carry Allan, Legrand held the hilt of the sword as steady as his strength would allow while John held Allan's back.

Much and Carter spurred their horses ahead as they approached the camp. The king and Robin trailed close behind.

Voices rang out when the first guards spotted them. "Carter! Much! James is dead and the king is missing. No one knows where he is."

Richard's voice sounded strong and sure from behind them. "He is here - alive and well thanks to Locksley and his friends. Let them pass." Richard held his arm awkwardly but sat straight in his saddle, showing no sign of the pain he was in.

When the gang arrived at the makeshift hospital, Rahiim shook his head in disbelief. "The graveyard is over there. Do not waste my time."

"He lives," Djaq spat in her native tongue.

The old man examined the wound then rattled back, "If he does not die from blood loss, he will be dead by morning from fever."

"Then I have nothing to lose," Djaq reasoned. "Give me a bed and the use of your tools. I will place the rest in Allah's hands."

Will had never seen so much blood before, and he had never seen the inside of another person, much less a close friend. "How much longer?" He held several inches of Allan's intestine and was about to lose his breakfast.

Allan had slipped in and out of consciousness but had finally, mercifully, passed out from the unbelievable pain as Djaq rummaged through his organs for any signs of damage.

"He is very lucky; nothing major was hit from what I can tell," Djaq said as she sewed up layers of muscle and vessel. "If Guy had better aim, he would have died instantly." She glanced at Will. "It is almost as if he hesitated. I think he wanted to miss." Her deft fingers closed the last wound with a quick tug at the sinew. "There. Now maybe he will live a few more days." She dressed the jagged wounds.

Will looked down at his fingers stained with his friend's blood. "What do we do now?"

"Pray to your God, my love. Pray for either a swift end to his suffering or for him to live."

Robin paced back and forth in front of the healer's tent, lost in his own thoughts. Little John held his head in his hands and stared into the fire. Legrand summoned the strength to remain on his feet after his own close call with death. He stood at the entrance of the tent, anxiously shifting his gaze between the work Djaq performed and his friends outside.

Much held back low sobs as he lay against Carter's shoulder. "I hated Allan. I hated him for what he did. I worried he might tell the sheriff about the camp and betray the gang." He sighed heavily. "I wanted him dead."

Robin shot much an angry look. "Shut it, Much."

"No. Let him speak," Carter said. "You, better than anyone, should know this is how he sorts things out." He looked at Much. "You didn't cause this, Much. No more than you put that sword in Gisborne's hand."

"But I thought it, and thinking it is the same as causing it," Much said.

"Then I am as guilty as you," John said quietly.

Much shook his head. "I should have been there. I should have saved Allan...saved Marian."

"Then who would have saved me?" Carter puzzled.

Much looked up, conflicted. "No, I didn't mean..."

Carter smiled and rubbed Much's shoulder. "I know you didn't. I was just teasing. I'm going to check on the king." He walked away as Much looked after him in confusion.

"Trouble in paradise?" Robin snorted.

Much glared. "Where were you when that man in there was fighting to save your wife?"

"Much," John said as he stood up. "No..."

"No, John, I want to know." Much stared Robin down. "Where were you, Robin?"

"I was fighting. Fighting to save the king. Fighting to save England."

The two men were nose to nose by then. John held Much back as Legrand tugged on Robin's arm.

Robin glowerd. "What were _you_ fighting for, Much?"

Much pulled away from John's grip. "Someone I love. Someone who needs me." He rubbed his arm. "There was a time I would have died for you, Robin. Now I wonder how many more people are going to have to." He stormed off after Carter.

Robin stood gobsmacked.

"He didn't mean it, Robin." John sighed and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Didn't he, John?" Robin replied. He shrugged off John's hand and walked away.

"He's hurting. We're all hurting-"

Robin whirled around, eyes glittering with anger. "And I'm not? Marian is dead. _My wife_ - is dead, John. Every hope...every dream...the life we should have had...gone forever."

Legrand stepped next to Little John and said, "I am sorry, Robin."

Djaq appeared at the entrance of the tent and all eyes turned to her.

"Is he-" John couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

"I have done everything I can." Her gaze fell on Robin. "The wound is bad."

"How many of my friends have to die helping me, Djaq?" Robin asked quietly, taking Much's accusation to heart. He looked at each of them, his sadness suddenly masked by a face of indifference, a face that shut them all out.

"Robin-"

"Goodnight," Robin said abruptly. "Wake me if...if there is any news, good or bad."

John watched Robin wheel away and wondered if he shouldn't follow. Perhaps it was best that he be left alone. He never was one for talking.

"Djaq," John said as Will peeked his head out of the tent, "you look exhausted. Please - Will - tell her to go rest."

"I am fine, John."

"John's right," Will said.

"Very well. I am tired and I will rest," Djaq replied. "Would you take turns sitting with Allan? Watch for signs of fever. It would be good to talk to him."

"Talk?" Legrand asked curiously. "He's not conscious."

"I believe that even the unconscious mind is at work and if Allan hears familiar voices, he will know he has friends to come back to." Djaq studied Legrand's face. He was still a bit pale. "Legrand, John will sit with Allan first. You do not look well. You must also rest."

Legrand rolled his eyes. "Femme autoritaire," he muttered.

"Oui, mon chevalier français," she replied with a wink. "Now off to bed with you."

Will wrapped his arm around Djaq's waist and began to lead her away. "Wake me in a couple of hours, John," he called. "I'll take my shift with Allan."

"Goodnight. Sleep well, friends," said Legrand, following Will and Djaq.

John slipped quietly into the tent. Allan lay on the bunk, his face pale and rigid with pain. John took a seat by the bed and ran a damp cloth across Allan's forehead. "Talk to you. She wants us to talk to you. About what?" John planted his hand on top of Allan's, then twined his fingers through his. His eyes widened when he felt Allan's fingers return a barely perceptible squeeze. "Allan? Allan?" he called, a small smile curling the edges of his mouth. "You're going to be all right."

**~~~O~~~**

**To be continued...**


	2. Men of Letters

**Characters/Pairings**: Much, Carter, King Richard/Legrand, Will/Djaq, Little John, Robin  
**Mentions**: Allan, Queen Eleanor  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Genre**: Drama  
**Warnings:** Slash (hinted at)  
**Disclaimer**: BBC & TA own; we just want to play in their universe  
**Notes**: Beta'd by **teamlavender**.

**Summary**: King Richard finally receives the letter from Queen Eleanor that confirms the gang's innocence in the attacks on both their lives...

* * *

**Chapter 2: Men of Letters  
**by**  
WastingYourGum**

**~~~O~~~  
**

"God's truth - I swear you leeches will be the death of me!"

Carter and Much could hear Richard's voice raised in anger as they approached his tent. It was a good sign - if he was angry, he was healthy.

The guard announced them and after a brief pause he came back out and ushered them into the king's presence.

Richard was sitting bare-chested on his bed as a very-nervous looking healer applied a salve to the arrow wound in his back. His arm was cushioned in a more secure sling.

Richard looked up and saw them both looking at his arm. "Nothing broken, just need to rest it for a day or so they say. Would be my sword arm of course," he said bitterly.

"We are delighted to hear there is no serious injury to your Grace's person," Carter said smoothly.

"I'm sure you are - since if there had been, you would probably be joining Legrand, Locksley and Locksley's men on charges of treason." Richard waved the healer away and the man bowed and scurried from the tent. "I am satisfied that today's meeting was indeed a trap, but there are still many other things to be discussed. Not least why James is lying dead in his tent."

"We are all too aware of that, Sire," Carter said. He drew the letter James intercepted from Queen Eleanor out of his tunic and handed it to Richard. "I believe you should see this. If you can find the messenger who delivered it to James, he will confirm that it is not the first letter from your mother that has never reached your hands."

"From my... Give me that." Richard read through the letter, his face darkening with anger one moment and clouding with remorse the next. Once he finished, he placed the letter beside him, picked up his wine and took a long drink. He dismissed the guards. "Leave us."

The guards bowed and departed to take up stations outside.

Much and Carter waited patiently while Richard sat deep in thought.

"I have been a fool," he said eventually. He picked up the letter again and muttered as he skimmed through it for the passages he wished to share with them. "'Dearest son...no reply to previous letters...fear intercepted...' Ah. 'I hope you will send me, with greatest haste, any word you may receive on Guillaume Legrand's health. He was gravely injured defending me against Vaizey's mercenaries and I am still fearful for his life. Locksley's Saracen physician is a very talented young woman, but his wounds were severe and may yet have proved fatal'...'no man in England more true to your cause than Locksley'...'tireless defender'...'his men are low-born but noble of heart and no less loyal'...and so on and so on."

He threw the letter down with an exasperated sigh. "How could I have allowed myself to be so grossly deceived? I've known Robin for years and should never have doubted him for an instant. And Legrand has been by my side almost since I first held a sword." He looked up at Carter and Much. "There are many things that I must put right. Carter - go fetch Legrand while I have a serious talk with your squire here..."

**~~~O~~~**

"Then it's settled. Carter - you can see to the details. I look forward to seeing you all in the morning, gentlemen." Richard dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, Sire." Carter, Much and Legrand all bowed and backed towards the tent's entrance.

"Not you, Legrand."

Legrand walked back to the centre of the tent and stood at attention, with his hands clasped behind his back as Much and Carter left. The guards were still outside so he and Richard were now alone.

Richard sat on his throne, carefully studying the man standing before him. How many nights had they spent together in the past? Hundreds probably - but not for many years now.

Legrand had never once used his position as Richard's favourite for any sort of personal gain. Others managed to find themselves stations towards the back of the order of battle, but Legrand was among the first in every charge. And despite his fearsome and well-earned reputation he could not escape unscathed forever. The battle in which Legrand received the scars across his face had all but won Richard his throne and had won Legrand great renown - but it had lost him Richard's affections.

Richard did not care to be reminded of battle while he made love. He sought beauty in his bed. Sending Locksley home had been painful, but better than having to admit he could no longer look at that once-perfect young body, now forever marked by war and suffering.

"Take your tunic off," Richard ordered.

Legrand had not had the opportunity to put his armour back on so was wearing only a long tunic over his leggings. He looked surprised by Richard's command but quickly fixed his gaze on the wall of the tent behind Richard and did as instructed. He held his tunic bundled in his hands and resumed his former position.

Richard stood up, walked directly in front of Legrand and studied his chest. He pointed to the scar under Legrand's ribs. "Was this the one from Vaizey's dagger?"

"Yes, Sire."

It was an ugly wound - easy to see how it had come close to costing him his life. "My mother said you sustained several other injuries...?"

"An arrow to the centre of my chest and two more in my back, Sire. Fortunately my chain stopped them penetrating too deeply."

Richard stepped slowly around him, looking at those scars and the many others besides. "Been a long time since I've seen your back, Guillaume," he observed.

"Yes, Sire."

Richard completed his short walk around Legrand and came to a halt in front of him again. "I apologise for doubting you. I thought I had lost your love and you had betrayed me. I know now only one of those things is true."

"You were deliberately deceived, Sire. I do not consider that you have anything to apologise for...and..."

"And?"

"And I will always love you, Sire."

"But not in the same way you used to... and it is not Locksley?"

"No, Sire, not Locksley."

"Then who?"

"He is...another Englishman."

Richard smiled. "Maybe I _should _return to Nottingham if all the men around there are so captivating; Locksley, Squire Much and now your mystery man. Have I met him?

"Yes, Sire, briefly."

Richard considered for a moment. "Hmmm. Not Locksley. Which means it must be one of his men. The younger one is certainly attractive..." He watched Legrand like a hawk for any hint of a reaction. "But a little too thin for your tastes, I fancy. The gruff older one then - felt like more of an equal fight, did you?" Richard smiled as he saw Legrand's eye twitch. "And does he return your love?"

Legrand hesitated and then shook his head.

Richard sighed affectionately. "What are we going to do with you, Guillaume? You are as reckless with your heart as you are in battle."

"Yes, Sire."

"Well I have some good news for you at least. My mother requested that should I see you - or Locksley - I should remind you of her invitation to join her at Poitiers. When Locksley returns home, you, Carter and Much shall accompany him as far as Poitiers before returning here. I have several vital messages I wish personally delivered to the queen and few couriers I can trust to take them."

"But Sire, I assure you - I am more than fit for battle again," Legrand protested. "Surely it will not take three of us-"

Richard silenced him with a stern look. "She has requested you personally, Guillaume. Would you have me deny my mother's wishes?"

"No, Sire."

"No. And it will afford you a few more weeks in your beloved's company to perhaps change his mind."

"He is...he is a lover of women, Sire. I have little hope of changing him."

"Is he now? Would one of these women be my mother by any chance?"

Legrand looked shocked. "He is a _peasant_, sire. I assure you neither myself nor Locksley would have permitted him-"

"God's balls, Guillaume. I'm sure he wouldn't dare lay a finger on _her. _But I'd bet my crown she liked the look of _him_."

"Your mother...seemed entertained by his company, Sire," Legrand said carefully.

Richard laughed. "Ha! I knew it. She never could resist a bit of brawn. Give him a few days at Poitiers with her chasing after him and he may decide you're the better option after all."

Legrand smiled wryly. "I doubt it, Sire, but thank you."

"Nonsense." Richard reached out and traced his fingers across Legrand's chest. "How could he resist your sizeable charms?"

Richard felt Legrand's muscles growing taut with nerves under his hand and saw the accompanying flush across his skin.

Legrand swallowed. "Sire, I..."

Richard dropped his arm. "I should not be so unkind to you, Guillaume. After all you have done for me."

Legrand sighed. "I have done nothing but my duty, Sire. And you have never been unkind. Merely allowing me to be in your presence is a kindness. And one I shall always treasure."

Richard took Legrand's chin in his hand and studied his eyes closely. "Your heart is not entirely lost to me, then?"

Legrand smiled. "Never, Sire."

Richard pulled Legrand's face down towards his. "Nor mine to you, I promise you..."

**~~~O~~~**

Will wakened and stretched. A pale light and the sounds of King Richard's camp stirring to life filtered through the canvas around him. He glanced over to the other cot in the small soldiers tent where John lay sprawled on his back, still fast asleep.

John had stayed with Allan far longer than he should and when he came to wake Will, Djaq had insisted she should go instead. They'd argued about it in hushed voices as John had collapsed into the other bed, but Will knew that even if he persuaded Djaq it was his turn, she would only wait and then follow after him, so after making his displeasure clear, he had given in and gone back to sleep.

"John?"

John's eyes blinked open and he yawned and then looked over. "Morning, Will."

"Do you know where any of the others' tents are?"

John thought. "I could probably find Much and Carter's again. I've no idea where Legrand and Robin's are."

"Legrand is right here." Legrand ducked under the entrance to their tent. He was back in full armour and looked quite serious. He tossed a spare shirt of his own towards John. "If you gentlemen have enjoyed lounging around in bed long enough, the king would like to see you."

John and Will looked at each other in surprise and then threw themselves from their cots. They washed and dressed in a hurry while trying to make themselves look as presentable as possible.

"Where is Djaq?" Legrand asked.

"She got up earlier and went to check on Allan," Will replied with a hint of bitterness. "I'll go get her."

"No need. I'll send somebody for her."

Will and John exchanged another look. That didn't sound good.

They followed Legrand to the king's tent and waited outside as the guard announced them. "The Comte de Châtellerault, John Little and William Scarlett, Your Grace."

"Enter."

Richard was sitting on his throne, his arm still in its sling. Several clerks bustled around with documents for his attention, showing that Richard had decided to put his temporary enforced inactivity to good use. Richard looked up as the three men entered and gestured towards Robin who was already present and standing off to one side.

John and Will hurried over to him and they talked as more people were announced and the tent gradually filled up with very solemn-faced knights, all in full battle dress.

"What's going on, Robin?" Will whispered.

"I'm not sure. Legrand just said the king asked to see me."

"Same here," Will said.

"He can't still be angry about yesterday, can he?" John asked.

Robin frowned. "No, I'm sure that's all forgiven. Much and Carter will have given him the queen's letter."

"So where are they?" Will wondered.

"Will, what is happening?" Djaq appeared beside them, looking concerned. "Two soldiers brought me here from the healer's tent."

"I don't know, my love. We'll just need to wait and see." He put his arm around her protectively. "How is Allan?"

"I think he will live, but I would prefer to move him away from this camp. Perhaps I will see if I can arrange for him to be taken to Bassam's in a few days. I will be able to care better for him there."

"Just you?" Will asked.

"Once he is settled I should be able to look after him by myself, yes."

Will frowned. "I'm not sure Djaq. Maybe-" He stopped short at a dig in the ribs from John and realised the rest of the tent's occupants had fallen silent.

Richard was looking over at them, surveying each of them in turn. His gaze seemed to linger longest on John but his face was neither stern nor smiling, giving no clue as to his current mood. "Thank you for coming so promptly. I have several matters to attend to this morning, but first, there is one long overdue ceremony to perform." Richard nodded to Legrand who nodded back then strode from the tent.

A moment later the guard by the entrance drew aside the opening and Much entered. He was in full armour but instead of his red squire's tunic, he was wearing a plain white one. He looked tired but also serious and solemn. He got down on one knee in the centre of the tent in front of Richard.

Carter followed directly behind him with a folded swathe of white cloth in his arms and Much's sword laid across it. He placed the bundle to one side, picked up the sword, and something else Will couldn't quite see, and then stood behind and slightly to one side of Much.

Legrand entered behind Carter, carrying what looked to be a large shield covered with a white cloth. He also stood behind Much, on the opposite side from Carter.

Carter leaned over to give Legrand the other thing he had picked up and Will finally saw it was a bright pair of new spurs.

Robin gasped and Will, Djaq and John all turned to look at him. He directed their attention back to Much.

Richard stood up and removed the sling from around his arm. He stood directly in front of Much. "Who sponsors this man?"

"I do, Sire," Carter and Legrand replied in unison.

Richard looked down at Much's bowed head.

Much found a spot on the floor he could fix his stare on. He was sure everyone in the tent could see him trembling with nerves. He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady, knowing he would have to speak shortly.

King Richard's voice seemed to come from much further above him than he had expected.

"Squire, you have proven yourself worthy in battle many times over. You have spent the night in holy prayer and been confessed and cleansed this morning. Do you solemnly swear to uphold the laws of chivalry, defend the weak, be courteous to all women, be loyal to your king, and serve God at all times?"

"I so swear, my Lord," Much replied clearly.

"Then it is my privilege to dub thee _Sir _Much, earl of Bonchurch and knight of England." Richard cuffed the side of Much's head, knocking him to one side.

Much put his hand on the ground to steady himself, grateful that Richard's arm was not at full strength. Carter had said - only half-jokingly - that his ears had rung for a full hour after his own dubbing from the king.

"Thank you, Sire." Much's voice cracked and his lip trembled as he fought to contain his emotion. He slowly got to his feet.

Carter secured Much's sword around his waist as Legrand set aside the shield and knelt to fasten on Much's spurs. Carter then unfolded the cape he had been carrying. It bore the Crusader cross and the emblem of the king's Private Guard, identical to both Carter and Legrand's. He fastened it around Much's shoulders and then stepped back, eyes bright with pride.

Legrand picked up the shield and stood in front of Much. He grabbed the white cloth covering it and tugged it off in one smooth motion.

Much's eyes widened. The shield was magnificent.

"Vair," Legrand explained. "A cross gules, thereupon a sword or, entwined with lavender."

Much knew 'gules' was red and 'or' was gold but the first? "Vair?" Much asked.

"It's a pattern representing squirrel fur." Legrand tried, but failed, to suppress a grin. He turned the shield round and held it out so Much could mount it on his arm.

Much smiled as he realised they'd even positioned the grips the correct way round for his right hand. He remembered the first few weeks Robin had tried to train him in using a sword and how awful he'd been until Robin realised Much was trying to disguise the fact he was left-handed and let him switch.

"Superstitious rubbish," Robin scoffed at Much's protests that he would be considered unlucky - a 'sinister' influence. "Fighting left handed will give you an added element of surprise."

"Congratulations, Sir Much. An honour very well deserved," Richard said as he clapped him on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Sire."

Richard stepped back and Carter grabbed Much in a huge embrace. "I'm so proud of you, Much."

"Thank you. You helped with the shield, didn't you?" Much whispered to him.

"I may have had some say in the matter." Carter grinned.

Legrand thumped him on the back, rattling Much's teeth. "Well done - I've already heard of some of your exploits from the other guards. You'll make an excellent knight."

"Thank you, Legrand." Much turned to Robin, Will and John.

John was whispering in Will's ear and they were both smiling broadly.

"What?" Much was instantly suspicious.

"Nothing..." Will and John both answered, then bowed and said, "My Lord," without a trace of mockery.

Much remembered how much they had teased him when he'd initially requested they give him his due as Earl of Bonchurch. To see both these men he admired in different ways showing him such respect brought fresh tears to his eyes. "You...you really don't have to do that," he said sheepishly.

"Yes, we do. It's your right and you've earned it," Will replied. John nodded in agreement.

"Much...congratulations," Robin said as he pulled him into a fierce embrace. "I'm...I'm very happy for you. It's no less than you deserve. I just wish I'd been able to give you that title properly myself."

"Thank you, Robin. But I would never have been here at all without you. I owe you and Carter so much."

"You don't owe me a thing, my old friend."

_Not a thing..._ Robin almost choked on his words as he realised the truth of them. Much was not just his own man now, but Robin's equal. No, not equal. Robin glanced at Carter who was hugging Much again. Much had everything he'd ever wanted while Robin had his title in name only and would never know love again. Robin turned away, bitterness and jealousy churning in his gut, not wishing the others to see the pain he knew must be on his face.

"And now...to other matters." The king's voice drew their attention back to him. "Step forward, Robin of Locksley."

The others moved back to their former positions. Much, Carter and Legrand stood off to the other side of the tent facing Will, Djaq and John.

Robin stood on his own in front of Richard's throne. He got down on one knee and bowed his head. "Your Grace."

Richard spoke gently, with clear affection but also with regret. "Robin, your title has been stripped and you have been declared outlaw by duly appointed authorities. I am sure these charges are false and you have only ever acted honourably. However I cannot publicly go against the rule of law in Nottingham without due process - no matter how corrupt that rule may be. For that I am truly sorry. When I return we will put all these matters to rights but it must be done properly and, more importantly, be _seen _to be done properly. I hope you understand."

Robin nodded. "Yes, Sire." He risked a sideways glance to his right.

Will and John looked mildly stunned at the news that they were, in effect, to remain outlaws. He knew they'd hoped for more - he certainly had.

"Until that day, I shall make it known as widely as possible that - outlaw though you may be - you are under my protection until you have met the charges against you in a fair trial under my jurisdiction."

Robin said nothing. Prince John and the sheriff would care little for such an instruction. 'Accidents' could easily be arranged.

"In the meantime I hope you will take this as a small token of my gratitude and proof of the affection in which I hold you." Richard gestured to a squire who stepped forward and presented Robin with a sword.

Robin drew it from the intricately tooled scabbard and heard the murmur of admiration from the others in the tent as he hefted it, feeling its perfect weight and balance. It had a highly polished finish and was engraved to match the leather-work of the scabbard, but it was clearly a sword meant for fighting and not display.

Robin slid it back into its sheath and bowed to Richard. "Thank you, Sire."

"Is there anything else I could possibly grant you?" Richard asked.

_I have lost my lands, my liberty and my love - what else matters?_ Robin thought bitterly. He looked to his right again and, as the answer occurred to him, he felt his heart grow even heavier. He was not the only one who had suffered loss thanks to the sheriff and Prince John. "I would ask that your protection and gratitude be extended to my men, Sire. They were just as much a part of your rescue, and that of your mother, as I was."

"Agreed. My mother spoke very highly of them and I have seen why for myself. Is there anything I could grant to them in anticipation of their names being cleared?"

John shook his head and looked down at the floor. Robin could see he was blushing, probably at the mention of the queen's praise.

Djaq also shook her head but, to Robin's surprise, Will cleared his throat.

"Ummm, Your...Your Grace," he said nervously. "I would..." He stopped and looked at Djaq then took her hand in his. "_We _would be greatly honoured if...if you would marry us."

Richard's eyes widened in surprise at the request but then he smiled. "I'd be delighted."

Djaq tugged at Will's sleeve. "We are already married," she hissed.

"I know. But this way no one can _ever _contradict it. Please, Djaq. Marry me?"

Djaq smiled. "Of course. But if we are doing this properly then I will have one or two things to prepare first."

**~~~O~~~**

**To be continued...**

* * *

**A/N:** If you'd like to see a picture of Much's new shield you can find it here (remove spaces after .'s): pics. livejournal. com/wastingyourgum/pic/0003ykpw


	3. Le Corpse

**Characters/Pairings**: Vaizey, Guy, Robin, Much, brief appearances by others  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Genre**: drama, angst  
**Disclaimer**: BBC & TA own; we just want to play in their universe

**Summary**: Grief-stricken, Robin leaves camp, intent on finding Marian's killers. Much follows...

* * *

**Chapter 3: Le Corpse**  
by  
**Pertletote**

**~~~O~~~**

Vaizey grimaced in disgust at the sound of morning prayers drifting through the abbey. He absolutely detested the waste of resources devoted to someone as worthless as God. If he had a tenth of that wealth... No matter; with what he already had, he could bend even this bastion of godliness to his purposes. No one was as good as Vaizey at finding the cracks and fault-lines that made people vulnerable...the correct pressure applied to the abbess and...voilà! He would have what he wanted...whatever he wanted.

He reached for his goblet but was distracted by another, even more annoying, sound. Gisborne was sniffling again. Would the man never stop? Would he never stop grieving over that dead leper?

Vaizey sprang out of his chair, stomped over to the door, and flung it open.

"Gisborne! Stop snivelling, you stupid wretch. Your precious Marian is dead, and what's more, you killed her. Get over it already."

The soft sobs continued as if he was not even there. Gisborne slumped on the edge of the bed, face pressed tight into a coverlet, fingers clinging to Marian's hand.

Vaizey could not stand being ignored.

He clicked his tongue, then shook his head. "Oh Gisborne, Gisborne, when will you ever learn? She's dead, you idiot! Get off her and get her into the ground. We are not going to drag a stinking body back to Nottingham with us."

Well, he was not going to anyway. If Guy continued to insist on dragging her around with him there were going to be two bodies in that grave. He smiled to himself. Guy would probably approve. Together...for eternity...united in death. He giggled a little at the ridiculousness of it, of actually wanting to spend eternity with another person.

As his words finally sunk in, Gisborne showed signs of life. He turned his head and glared. His lip curled up in that familiar sneer, but instead of climbing off the bed like a normal person, he crouched over her and snarled.

Yes, snarled. At Vaizey. Sudden laughter choked him. Luckily for Gisborne, he thought it was funny.

"There's no need to act like a feral dog, Gisborne. You've already killed her...yes, knocked her right in the head I'm afraid...you might as well cut your losses. I was thinking of a funeral. Tomorrow morning, perhaps? Yes. IT. WILL. BE. TOMORROW. I expect you to attend."

As Vaizey left the room, Gisborne collapsed back onto the bed in sobs. What a pathetic excuse of a man.

**~~~O~~~**

Guy could not remember how long he had been here with her. Hours, days, even weeks - his recollection ever since that moment had become uncertain, but however long it had been, he was certain there was no mercy for him anywhere. That memory remained in sickening detail. The heat of the earth rising up to him, the solidity of the blade. Then the abrupt contact vibrating up his arm, and, oh God, the hollow thunk her head had made. He turned his eyes away in desperation, but he already knew there was no escape. He could vaguely remember the feel of his blade sliding into Allan - please no! not him too! - but everything else between then and now was gone, crushed by the weight of what had come before. He laid his head back down next to her. If only he could just die now.

Minutes, maybe hours, later there was a noise at the door, and when he looked up he saw Vaizey. As soon as the smaller man entered the room, Guy once again felt an almost overpowering urge to protect her. She wasn't safe with Vaizey in the room. Christ! She wasn't safe with him in the room. She would never be safe again. He clutched her to him - how could this have happened? How could he have done this to her? He would never hurt her. He listened as Vaizey spoke.

"Gisborne! It's all arranged, dear boy. Let's take her down to the chapel. The mother superior herself will perform the service in the morning and they have a nice rose bush you can bury her under. I expect it will be quite lovely."

Yes...a perfect funeral. That was all he could offer her now. Guy could hardly stand the thought of her resting here, so far from her home, so far from him. She should be at Knighton. If he could, he would bury her in the ashes of Knighton. Yet another thing he had destroyed. But no, he had taken that from her. He had taken everything from her. Vaizey was right, this abbey was the best he would find. At least it was peaceful and quiet. He felt momentarily grateful to the sheriff for arranging it, for knowing what to do. He had not expected his lord would be so sympathetic.

He climbed out of the bed, then looked down on her for a moment before heaving her up over his shoulder. As he walked, he tried to imagine it was a game, that in a moment she would laugh and wiggle, perhaps flip off of his back as she had once before, but the weight of her arms bumping limply against his back kept the truth fresh in his mind.

Vaizey glanced at him with curiosity and said, "Finally Gisborne, you've seen reason. Thought for a while there, I'd have to bury you with her." He smiled broadly and Guy noticed the light glinting off of his studded tooth.

He followed the sheriff down to the chapel where he arranged her carefully on the prepared place. Yes, he would keep vigil tonight. Tomorrow, he would say goodbye.

**~~~O~~~**

When the gang left the king's tent, they paired off. First Will and Djaq's private murmuring had turned into a lengthy and heated discussion outside the healer's tent. Much had tried his best not to eavesdrop, but still heard all about Allan and the decision to move him to Bassam's house. He was not sure who was on which side or who had won the argument, but afterwards Will and Djaq had left to make the arrangements and oversee Allan's transport. Then Little John and Legrand made their excuses and gone off to plan the trip to Poitiers.

Much had turned away to go with Carter, but when he glanced back he had seen Robin standing solitary, an unreadable expression on his face. Unreadable to everyone else. But Much had known there was pain and the grief behind the mask and, as he watched, he had seen the mania rise, tightening Robin's jaw with determination, filling the familiar grooves and furrows of Robin's brow. He had known the man was about to do something reckless - known that was what Robin did when faced with sorrow. Robin had turned to go and Much had squeezed Carter's hand, pleading silently for understanding - Much was not with Robin any more, but he still could not allow him to put himself at risk.

"I have to go with him...he will get himself killed," he whispered to Carter. Carter nodded and helped Much out of his new white cloak.

Carter hugged it to his chest, then looked up into Much's eyes before saying, "Don't worry, it will wait for you...and so will I."

Much felt tears prickling as he turned to go. He hoped Carter would always feel that way.

As Much dogged Robin through Acre, he thought about how much he hated this, how much it was like it had been before...before he had left the forest...before Carter. Robin was searching feverishly, wrapped up in his own need - in his own mission, ignoring all of Much's comments and questions. It was impossible to know what he was after, but Much had a strong suspicion that it was nothing good.

Robin questioned stall-keepers, marketers, and tavern-keepers, seemingly completely at random. Gradually, they moved farther and farther to the east of town and gradually Much became more and more certain what Robin was after. He thanked God that Robin was unaware that his Arabic had gotten much better. For now, the man was speaking freely in front of him. He doubted Robin would have allowed him to listen if he knew he understood - Robin had always tried to keep him in the dark when his disapproval was likely. Much tried not to show too much interest, but could not help the gasp that escaped him when Robin asked after a group of men wearing black. Robin eyed him suspiciously before moving away to quiz a passer-by in a lowered voice. This time, Much only caught the word Āmrʼh - a woman - but that was enough...those things together could only mean...

"Robin... You are not looking for...you cannot mean to...you cannot track them down by yourself."

The man finally acknowledged him for long enough to grin and reply, "But I'm not by myself, am I? I've got you."

Much pushed down his sympathy - he knew Robin hid suffering behind a smiling face, but the pain of being made to feel a servant again made it easy. "This isn't funny Robin. The king will be angry that you've gone off on your own. Leave them to his justice."

The grin turned grim, and Robin spat, "No! It isn't funny, Much. They are traitors and murderers, and I will make sure they receive what they deserve. They have avoided it for too long already...they have..." Robin stopped abruptly and turned away, hurrying blindly towards what appeared to be a small abbey.

"It will not bring her back. Robin, come away," he said gently.

"No, I will not come away. I will find them and I will..."

Much would not be ignored like this, brushed aside like he didn't matter. He was a knight now, his opinion counted. He reached out and caught Robin's arm in a firm grip. "No! You are not yourself. I will not permit you to continue unless you promise me you will do nothing before summoning the king's guards."

Robin looked down at his hand for a moment before laughing. "Oh, you will not permit me to continue? Pray, tell me, how exactly do you intend to accomplish that?" He stared pointedly at the sword at Much's waist before raising an eyebrow. Much sighed. The other way Robin dealt with grief was by pushing those around him away. Fortunately, Much had more than just Robin to love now.

"Robin," he said in exasperation.

Robin bowed his head as if ashamed before replying, "You are right, I will...I will find them, but then we will call for help. I will..."

Robin broke off again and began muttering fiercely to himself. Much considered how much harm could he do in an abbey anyway? Robin headed towards the chapel and Much followed. Perhaps the evening mass would calm him. He began preparing a prayer to offer at the altar, words to mourn her death, words to comfort Robin, but as Robin neared the door, Much sensed something was wrong. He heard...sobbing? Yes, he was certain it was sobbing and it was coming from the chapel.

"Wait, Robin, I think we should..."

"Gisborne..." Robin whispered, "I knew I would find them. I will make him pay..."

Much crouched next to Robin and peered through the doorway. It was Gisborne. He scanned the room, but there was no one else. Odd. That meant he must be the one crying. Much had never expected to see that one on his knees in a church. As he stared, the scene suddenly clicked...candles, a chapel, and what was that...a body. His eyes opened wide in shock; it was a vigil, it had to be for Marian.

"I will kill him," Robin hissed, fumbling at his hip for his sword.

"No. We must get the King's Guards. You promised."

Gisborne looked up as Robin's sword cleared its sheath. Robin charged down the aisle towards him and Much watched in frustration as Guy drew his sword and planted himself firmly in front of Marian's body.

The clash of their weapons echoed in the deserted chapel. They fought wildly, neither caring whether they took wounds as long as they reached the other.

Did they not realize they fought on consecrated ground? They would kill each other, here, in front of God. Uncertain of the best course, Much started forward, hand at his own hilt. He must stop them. As he neared, he was able to hear the words they were exchanging - each accusation more painful than the last.

"...she is gone! I promise you, I will see you dead!"

"It is your fault you fool! How could you knowingly place her in such a situation?"

"No! It is your fault! You wielded the blade!"

"You never deserved her...you could not provide for her...protect her..."

"I loved her!"

"No! I loved her!"

As Much searched for an opening to break the two apart, he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Vaizey. He whirled to face the new threat.

"Oh, come now, Bonchurch." Vaizey smiled. "We are old friends, are we not? I'm sure we both have their best interests at heart. I'm sure that it's best for them both to be...dead! With that stupid leper! Guards!"

"Robin!" Much called desperately. "Robin! Come away! It is sinful to fight on consecrated soil!"

"No! I will not leave her with him! He killed her!"

At his words, Guy looked back at Marian. He shuddered, then dropped his guard as he said, "He is right...just go, Hood, there has been too much death."

"Too much death at your hands, Gisborne. She will have justice." His face a mask of fury, Robin stepped forward. Gisborne made no move to defend himself as Robin deliberately swung his pommel into Gisborne's temple. As Guy collapsed to the floor, Robin watched in satisfaction.

"Now...now she can be at peace," Guy said, a strange smile coming to his face as the blood pooled.

"Robin! On holy ground...how could you? Come away!"

As Vaizey's hired Saracens began pouring in the far end of the chapel, Much dragged Robin back down the aisle. He had to get him away, he had to get him back to the king. Perhaps then he would see reason.

**~~~O~~~**

**To be continued...**


	4. Let the Games Begin

**Characters/Pairings: **Vaizey, Guy, Marian  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Genre**: drama  
**Disclaimer**: BBC & TA own; we just want to play in their universe

**Summary**: Vaizey cleans up the mess and sets things in motion.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Let the Games Begin  
**by**  
Perteltote**

**~~~O~~~**

What a disaster. Two bodies to deal with instead of one, ignorant Saracens milling about, spouting incomprehensible gibberish, and him with no plan made, no path chosen. This could hardly get worse.

He paced the aisle. He needed to leave here immediately, and it would have to be alone. Vaizey pouted; the only English-speaking company he had, bad though it had been, was lying dead. And Hood. Of all the insufferable... Hood had found him. No doubt he'd be back with his precious king just as fast as his little legs could carry him. He envisioned how it would have to be: the quick departure, the months of travel ahead, the complete boredom... Well. Perhaps it was worth checking on Gisborne, just in case.

Stepping over the pooling blood, he nudged the man with his toe, then added a kick to the ribs for good measure. Oh! How marvellous. He was moaning. Not dead after all; that would ease the travel a bit. But still - the man would find a way to incapacitate himself at the worst possible moment. If Vaizey wanted anyone to...amuse...him he'd have to arrange for transport. And something for the leper.

He turned and examined Marian's body. He'd still have to have her buried he supposed, though God knows he'd rather just throw her out by the side of the road. At least now they had a reason not to stay and watch her be lowered into the grave; Gisborne would be in no condition to complain.

He stepped closer to the body. He eyed it critically; she was beautiful, he'd give Gisborne that much. He'd never been able to get past the conniving look in her eyes, but now that they were finally closed he could appreciate her. Death seemed to have agreed with her. Who would have thought? Skin flawless as always, and...what? Had her fingers just twitched?

He leaned in, straining to feel her breath on his cheek. Oh yes - she was alive all right. He glanced at Gisborne and laughed. The fool had been lying practically on top of her for near twenty-four hours and had never noticed.

"Hello, my dear," he whispered, "so glad to see you're still in there... A clue? NO."

He watched with satisfaction as her eyelashes fluttered.

"Oh yes," he crooned, "both your lovers have come and gone - left you all alone with me. I'm afraid they were more interested in each other than in you...but then wasn't that always the case? Don't worry, I won't forget about you. No reason to worry at all."

He smiled maliciously, his mind already sorting through the possibilities. First he would need something to drug her...and probably Guy as well. Then to see the abbess...

**~~~O~~~**

"...et in hóra mórtis nóstrae. Ámen. Áve María, grátia pléna, Dóminus técum. Benedícta..."

The peace of mumbled prayers shattered as unease filled her...she listened...there was nothing but silence. She hesitated, drew breath to resume, then heard the scrape of a foot, the soft whisper of cloth sliding.

"Who is there?" she called.

Abruptly strong hands caught her jaw, forcing her face up close, closer, until he was so near she could feel his heat on her skin. Unable to mask her fear, she shivered and closed her eyes. She had thought herself a strong woman, had thought herself committed to God, but five minutes in the company of this stranger had shown her otherwise.

The Hail Marys she said were for her own soul; penance and supplication together for the services she had rendered this man. Services she had rendered because she was too full of fear to become a martyr, because she was not strong enough to accept the pain. So she squeezed her eyes tighter and prayed that he wanted no more from her, prayed that God would forgive her weakness.

"Ah, Abbess Beatrix. Yet again I arrive to find you on your knees...appropriate, don't you think? Thought I'd let you know that my...requirements...have changed. The young woman, she is alive after all..."

She gasped in relief; one less crime on her conscience. She had never thought to find herself abetting a murderer, and the young woman was so lovely, fair and clearly well born...someone who would undoubtedly be missed. A prayer of thanks rose to her lips but was brutally quashed when the man behind ground a booted heel into the soft flesh of her knee.

"You will pay attention," he hissed, "God has no part in this."

She nodded agreement before doggedly continuing the prayer inside her head. She would do these things, do what he required, but she would not lose her soul. She would make amends.

**~~~O~~~**

**To be continued...**


	5. Last Dance With Marian

**Characters/Pairings**: Guy, Marian, Vaizey**  
Rating**: PG-13**  
Genre**: angst  
**Disclaimer**: BBC & TA own; we just want to play in their universe

**Summary**: Homage to a classic rock song. Gisborne agonizes over past mistakes.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Last Dance With Marian**  
by**  
DarkenTwisted**

**~~~O~~~**

_She was still as the day he laid her to rest. Her skin like cool marble, translucent and pale. He brushed the back of his hand across her icy cheek. The nuns had done their job well. There was almost no trace of the horrible injury to her head that he had inflicted in rage. It had been carefully cleaned and the wound sutured so neatly it disappeared into her lush brown hair. __  
__  
__She smelled of honeysuckle and other exotic herbs and spices the natives of this inhospitable land used to make their miserable existence more bearable. The dress was just as he remembered it, the intricate gold-embroidered silk cost a small fortune alone. She had destroyed the first one but he had this one made just in case she woke up and saw he was the only choice. Now she never would. _

_The old abbess eyed Gisborne like she was staring at Lucifer himself. He could feel her eyes on him. "Leave us," he growled._

_"It would not be proper-"_

_"I said leave us!" Guy barked, making the shrivelled woman jump. She nodded and turned, crossing herself as she did._

_The nun halted at the doorway without looking back. "God is watching, my son. He is always watching."_

_"God is dead," Guy said._

_His fingers entwined with hers. He could almost feel her cold hand warming to his touch. He sobbed hard. "Why? Why couldn't you just get out of the way?" He buried his head into her shoulder as he lifted her limp body up to his. "We could have had it all, love, money, power...then you had to leave me for him." He looked into her still face. "But he won't have you now, no one can." __  
__  
__He imagined their wedding waltz and lifted her off the slab without even realizing. Her head lay heavy on his shoulder as her toes scraped against the rough floor. He hummed a soft melody as they moved, the swishing of her gown like a soft whisper. He imagined the grateful peasants around them laughing and applauding as Hood's corpse swung on the distant castle wall in Nottingham._

_"Oh you don't have to be so shy my darling." He smiled as he hoisted her lolling head back on his shoulder. "They love you. You are their new ruler's wife." Her head rolled again and he stopped. "Oh you must be tired. We'll rest." He sat her back down and the slab became their wedding banquet. He carefully lifted the gold chalice with the scarlet liquid and held it to her still lips. "A drink to our love." He frowned as it dribbled down her chin and stained the expensive silk. "We mustn't waste good wine must we?" He kissed her lips and withdrew in terror. The walls were cold stone again. Marian lay in his arms, still and pale in her white robe, her mouth slightly parted. He recoiled in disgust. "You were never mine, you never will be, still you poison my soul. Well no more."_

_He waited till the calm of night covered his task. Marian lay heavy in his arms, a dead weight he so wanted to be rid of. The salt air stung his skin as he made his way, tripping in the sand and recovering. The warm water swirled around them as he let her go and watched her fall away. "Goodbye my love."_

_Her skin glowed in the moonlight, translucent as glass, smooth as marble. Her eyes opened blue as the sea that surrounded her. Her mouth opened silently as the last bubble of breath left her lips._

He woke up furiously grabbing at the covers on his bed. Breath fouler than the grave alerted him to who was in the room and over him. "Wakey, wakey, Gizzy Gizzy."

Gisborne rose up and regretted it instantly. His head swam with dull pain and his hand gingerly swept across the crusted bandage covering the wound Robin had delivered to him. It hurt to focus, but he tried to look anywhere except into the evil little man's eyes. "Marian..."

"It's been taken care of," Vaizey said as he rolled his eyes and examined his dirty nails. "As usual Gisborne, I have cleaned up your mess. Now get up. We have a boat to catch and I have a lot of explaining to do to Prince John. Heads will roll over this one, Gisborne, and I'm hoping it will be yours."

"Why me? You orchestrated this whole thing," Guy growled.

"That blow to the head has messed with your mind worse than I thought Gisborne." Vaizey turned at the door. "You had the kill shot, but because of your little toys, you missed. Now get ready, we both have to pay the devil!"

**~~~O~~~**

Abbess Beatrix entered the chamber. Marian's body lay on the slab. She ran her hand across the maiden's pale cheek as she stirred. "Still alive but only just." She held the small bottle to the young girl's lips and let the bitter herbs do their work. Marian sighed and was still once more. The old lady palmed the small leather bag she had received as payment to keep her secret. She'd sold her soul to the devil but the poor would eat for her lies. Her God would understand. "It's better this way, my child. You do not want to be awake for what lies ahead of you." She covered the unconscious girl with the tattered blanket and prayed over what must be done next.

**~~~O~~~**

**To be continued...**


	6. For Better, For Worse

**Characters/Pairings**: Will/Djaq, Much/Carter  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Genre**: angst, romance

**Summary**: King Richard marries Will and Djaq. Much and Carter exchange vows privately. Robin's heart aches for the love he has lost...

* * *

**Chapter 6: For Better, For Worse  
**by**  
JAGNikJen**

**~~~O~~~**

Robin watched the others, his heart heavy. It should have been he and Marian being married by the king-first, at least. Not that he begrudged Djaq and Will their love, their child, or their wedding. But it hurt. It hurt a lot. He swallowed against the anger and the sorrow that churned within him.

Will caught his eye, his face somber. Robin could read the sympathy and the apology in Will's eyes. Robin offered Will a small smile, more like a grimace, if he was honest-it was the best he could do-and a nod. Will nodded back and then turned when Much called his name.

Robin's gaze also turned to Much. He looked good, very good. Better than he had in a long time. And happy. Mostly. That's what hurt Robin the most. And confused him the most. Much deserved all the best life had to offer. And Robin couldn't give him that right now. But it didn't set well that someone else could or that Much had actually left to take it.

Robin took a deep breath and shifted his gaze to Carter. The man who'd made Much happy; who'd provided that which Robin could not. He liked Carter. And he hated him. He'd taken Much away-Robin's friend, his brother, the person, after Marian, who meant the most to him.

As if feeling the weight of Robin's thoughts, Carter looked up and their gazes locked and held for several moments. To his credit, Carter kept his expression neutral, although he couldn't completely hide his sympathy.

A whistle from the front of the tent pulled both of their attention away from each other and to Bassam. Everyone else was looking in his direction as well.

"She comes," Bassam said to the small company with a bow.

Everyone remained facing the tent flap and the king rose from his throne and stepped forward.

A pair of guards pulled back the tent flaps and Djaq appeared in the opening. Everyone gasped. Djaq smiled, a shy but pleased smile.

She stood there swathed in a brilliant blue-green gown that covered most of her petite frame. Only her face and her hands, which held a single white cyclamen blossom, were visible. The thin gauzy fabric was shot through with silver threads and edged with intricate silver embroidery. The dress itself was long-sleeved, semi form-fitting, and fell to her feet. The long head scarf was loosely draped around her head and shoulders, one end hanging down her front, the other, down her back.

Robin watched her walk toward Will and the king.

The bride and groom exchanged shy but joyful smiles.

Stopping next to her groom, she looked from Will to the king and then inclined her head.

"You are a mighty beautiful bride, young lady," said King Richard.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." She offered a half-bow.

Will took her hand and the guests gathered round behind them.

The king looked from the bride and groom and scanned the faces of the guests. "We are gathered here today in the presence of God and this company to join these two people in holy matrimony."

"And Allah," said Djaq, looking up at the king in all seriousness.

"What?" asked the king, looking surprised to have been interrupted.

Robin's own breath caught. Oh, Djaq... He understood her need, her desire, but Robin wasn't sure the king would see it the same way. Robin saw her straighten her back and take a quick breath.

She dipped her head once and then looked the king in the eye and said, "With respect, Your Majesty, I am not a Christian. I do not worship your god. I worship Allah and I believe his presence is here also."

Just about every man in this tent knew of the king's mercurial moods. He could just as easily walk away as continue to perform the ceremony. Finally, the king nodded. Robin heard a collective release of breaths that echoed his own.

"Of course," said Richard. "We are gathered here today in the presence of God, Allah, and this company to join these two people in holy matrimony-"

Djaq nodded at Richard and softly said, "Thank you."

Richard inclined his head. "-which is commended to be honourable among all men and is not to be entered into lightly…but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two people now come to be joined. If anyone can show just cause why they should not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

The company remained quiet, although Robin fought the urge to scream about the unfairness of it all. But it was not Djaq and Will's fault that Marian was dead. It was Gisborne's, and as soon as Robin returned to England, he would exact his revenge. But now was not the time or the place for such thoughts. It was Djaq's day. Robin swallowed the lump in his throat and focused his attention on the king. It was easier than witnessing Will and especially Djaq's joy.

"...marriage, Will and Safiyya make a commitment together to face their disappointments, embrace their dreams, realize their hopes, and accept each others failures. Will and Safiyya promise one another to aspire to these ideals throughout their lives together through mutual understanding, openness, and sensitivity to each other."

A movement caught Robin's eye and his gaze strayed from the king to Much. And Carter. The two men shared tender looks and gentle smiles. Remembrance dawned, and hurt and anger sat like a stone in Robin's gut. How did he not recall what that sailor, Brooks, had said? How could he have been blind to the deep affection between them? Overwhelming sadness brought tears to his eyes and he blinked them back. Not that they were amiss-he was happy for Will and Djaq and overcome with Marian's loss. But he would cry in private. He would not cry here in front of his friends. Or in front of the king. He blinked and swallowed, forcing his emotions under control and his attention back to the ceremony.

"...take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, to keep thee only unto her, as long as you both shall live?"

Strong and sure, Will said, "I do."

"And Safiyya, do you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, to keep thee only unto him, as long as you both shall live?"

Equally assured, Djaq said, "I do."

"Then by the power vested in me as the king of England, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

Will enveloped Djaq in his arms and kissed her. Thoroughly and with as much passion as Robin had ever seen from his stoic quiet friend.

The newly married couple broke apart to the cheers and whistles of their witnesses. Djaq looked radiant and joyous. Will looked equally so. Robin hugged each of them in turn. "Congratulations, my friends. I am happy for you."

"Thank you, Robin," Djaq said softly. "I know this was not easy for you."

"No." He shook his head once.

"Refreshments in the mess tent," called one of the king's personal aides.

"Come, my love," Will said, taking Djaq's arm.

The group moved along in high spirits, Will and Djaq holding hands on the way. The soldiers and squires they passed smiled at the happy group. Robin lagged behind-he could not endure any further revelry. He hoped Djaq and Will would understand. He wasn't even sure they'd notice. He veered off and headed for the privacy of his own tent.

Much watched Robin change course and avoid the party altogether. His heart hurt for his beloved Robin, but he didn't know how to help him. If he even could. Much had a hard time having fun, although for Carter's sake he faked it. But he finally had enough and slipped away from the reception shortly after Djaq and Will departed.

He left Carter behind laughing and joking with his fellow private guards. Much told Carter he was off to relieve himself so Carter wouldn't worry and come looking for him. Too soon, at any rate. Much needed some time to himself, with his thoughts-he was worried about Robin. Old habits died hard. And even more-so since Robin's return to the Holy Land and Marian's death. Robin always held his feelings bottled up. It wasn't healthy and Much just hated to think-

Much shook his head. That was no longer his burden to carry. Not now that he and Carter were together. But still... Robin...

With a sigh, Much meandered back to the tent he shared with his new master. Nay, not his master any longer. Not since yesterday when, by word and deed of the sovereign, he'd been knighted and given his much-longed-for Bonchurch. He disrobed to his braies and fell to his pallet. He listened to the rise and fall of voices and laughter from the party. The cooling night air wafted through the netting and felt delightful to his skin. It reminded him of Sherwood. He closed his eyes and imagined the tall trees, the leafy canopy. He imagined their camp. Small and cosy. And he remembered even farther back to summers when he and Robin had slept in the loft in the barn, talking of girls and sex late into the night.

A tear trickled from his eye but he didn't bother to wipe it away. Sometimes life was just awful. And it was wonderful. Sometimes both at the same time.

"Much?" called Carter's familiar voice, soft and curious in the darkness. The tent flap lifted a moment later and his beloved stepped inside.

"Yes, I am here." He cleared his throat and tried to sound normal, but failed miserably. He could hear it himself and decided to confess. "I... I am just overwhelmed and needed to get away."

"You sound upset, my love." Carter dropped to the ground beside Much and felt around for his hand. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Carter said as he stretched out along side Much, resting his head in one hand and resting the other hand on Much's heart. He felt the steady thump beneath his palm. His eyes adjusted to the darkness within their tent and he could finally make out Much's profile in the inky blackness. "Don't you know that I can sense your disquiet, your...sadness. You and I are connected, you see. And it hurts me when you hurt. Perhaps I can offer my shoulder to cry on, my ears to listen, my arms to comfort..."

Much remained quiet for a time and then nodded. "It is..." Much took a breath and said, in a rush, "It is Robin."

Carter couldn't help the sigh. But it wasn't a big surprise. He'd seen Much watching Robin on several occasions earlier in the day, Much's countenance always softened and fell when Robin was the object of his observation.

Much rolled away and Carter's hand hit the blanket.

"You see?" Much said. "I knew you would not be happy to hear about Robin."

He was right and he was wrong. It did pain him to hear Much speak of the other man, especially with such devotion. But as long as he did, as long as Much continued to share his thoughts and his feelings, then at least Carter knew what he was up against. "I know how much you still care for Robin, Much. And it is never easy seeing those you...love..." Carter was loath to use the word applied to Robin, but there was nothing for it. "...hurting. But in Robin's case there is little you can do. He must work through his grief in his own way."

"I could be there for him," Much said adamantly.

"You could, but would he let you? Has he ever let you?"

"After he was wounded." Much's voice became small. "When he was delusional-when he called for Marian...he let me... Then it was awkward for awhile, but eventually...we..."

Carter nodded, his heart clenching, suddenly remembering Much's confession. As gently as he could, he said, "He used you, Much." He hated to think of them together in that way, but that was part of Much, what made him him. And Carter could no more not love him than he could kill the king. He placed his hand on Much's upper arm. "You know that I love you, right? It's because of that love that I have a hard time dealing with your feelings for him."

"What?" Much rolled back to his back. "Why? I love you, too. I am with you now. I cannot go back."

"He does not deserve your loyalty or your love, Much."

Much sat up. "Don't ever say that again."

The vehemence in his voice startled Carter.

"I know what you think...what you think you see. But you cannot ever know what was between us. Please..." Much's voice broke. "...please don't hate him. He is just a man, you see. A broken and hurting man. And he will always hold a special place in my heart. I cannot help that."

Carter sat up as well and put his arms around Much. Much's words hurt. Carter only hoped that Much's feelings for him were equally as strong and long lasting. "I'm sorry, Much. I do not mean to hurt you. It's just that I am afraid of losing you."

Much softened within Carter's embrace and leaned his head onto Carter's. "You worry for nothing."

"Nay, Much, not for nothing." Another long sigh escaped Carter.

"How can I prove-oh, I know."

Much crawled away and Carter heard the rustle of clothing as Much searched for something.

"Ah..." he said and then returned and sat cross-legged in front of Carter. He held up two gold rings. They caught what little light filtered into the tent and shone softly.

"Where did you get those?" Carter asked, taking a hold of them, feeling them in Much's fingers.

"I saw them in the market...they have some designs etched into them. Hard to see in the dark, but they made me think of you...of us. And I, I bought them..."

"Much..." Carter whispered, his being filling with love.

Much took Carter's hand and cleared his throat. "I, Much, new knight of the realm and earl of Bonchurch, take you, Carter, beautiful, wonderful Carter as my beloved. For now and for always, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, in good times and in bad, till death us do part." Then Much slid the ring down Carter's finger.

"That's a real possibility here, you know. Especially now that you're a true knight."

"Yes, I do know." Much squeezed his hand.

Carter readjusted their hands. "I, Carter of Wilton, knight of the realm, take you, my loyal and loving Much, as my beloved. For now and for always, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, in good times and in bad, till death us do part." Carter pushed Much's ring into place.

"You may kiss your beloved," Much said.

Carter leaned in and brushed his lips across Much's, their hands still clasped between them. Much pressed closer, moving his mouth the way he did when he wanted more. Carter parted his lips, as did Much, and their mouths fused and their tongues slipped and slid and caressed the others'. Desire shot straight to Carter's groin and he groaned.

Together, they shifted and moved until they were lying together, Carter spooned in behind Much.

"I think one of us has too many clothes on," whispered Much.

"Are you sure?"

"We have just taken vows. We must con...consume...be together."

Carter chuckled as he stood and shucked his clothing. Then he rolled Much to his back and straddled him. "I believe the word you were looking for is consummate." Leaning over, he took control of Much's mouth in another heated kiss as he pressed his erection against Much's hardening flesh.

He pushed all thoughts but those of Much aside and concentrated on leaving his own mark on his lover's heart. He prayed it would be enough.

**~~~O~~~**

Will stood just inside the door and looked about the room Bassam had shown them into. "You know, after all that time in the forest, I was really looking forward to a real bed." He eyed the thick pallet dressed with jewel-toned fabrics and pillows of every shape and colour that dominated the space. Four lengths of a silvery gossamer fabric hung from a ring centred over the bed and were tucked under each corner of the pallet. "How are we supposed to sleep with all those pillows?"

Djaq laughed. "Well, first of all, it is our wedding night. We are not supposed to sleep. And those pillows may come in handy. Second of all, there is no real bed so that we do not break it while making mad passionate love. Plus, if we are rolling around, then we will not fall off and become injured."

Shock and confusion was written all over Will's face and Djaq grinned. "Come...I will show you." She took him by the hand and tugged him forward.

Then he caught sight of a low table just to the left of the door and laden with all sorts of food and drink. "What's with all that? We just ate."

"In my language, honeymoon is shahr el assal-which means month of honey. Some traditions say the bride and groom must spend the entire first month together in seclusion in order to firmly establish their marriage and ensure an heir."

Will's mouth dropped open and Djaq giggled. "Do not worry, my love. We only have provisions enough for a week. Then we mu-"

"A week?" Will brown eyes were large. "We're supposed to...to...for a week?"

Djaq rolled her eyes. "We will be allowed to sleep and eat at some point...just not yet..." She pressed a kiss to his lips. "Now do you have any other questions?" She ran her fingers along his furry jaw line and up into his soft dark hair.

He shook his head and pulled the scarf from her shoulders and tossed it to the floor. "What's that?" he asked, eyeing her neck.

She smiled and said, "Another custom here in my country is that the bride is tattooed, temporarily, for the wedding. The mehndi is applied using henna which contains barakah."

"Barakah?"

"Blessings."

"Ah." He nodded. "And is it just on your neck-like a necklet?"

She sensed his hesitance as she slid her sleeves up and revealed her wrists and forearms. "No. Here and on my feet and legs."

"It's very...nice."

"You do not like it." It wasn't a question, nor an accusation; just an acknowledgment.

"I...I'm not sure. It's just different, Djaq, that's all. I'm sorry." He took a hold of her upper arms and kissed her. "But you always look beautiful to me, you know that, don't you?"

She saw his face, the remorse for not being as enthusiastic as she'd hoped, the apology in his eyes, and she instantly forgave him-not that there was really anything to forgive. As it was being applied, she'd wondered at his reaction and had half-expected it. But she was the bride and her traditions included the mehndi. She nodded. "Yes, my love, I know. Now, are we going to just stand here all night?"

Will shook his head. "No..." He then inspected her gown for fasteners, but she shook her head and crossed her arms across her mid-section and took hold of the fabric at her waist.

"No...let me," Will said.

Djaq dropped her arms. Will knelt and gathered handfuls of the soft fabric and rose slowly, pulling the gown up as he went. He gasped softly. "Djaq..." Her feet and lower legs were decorated with trees and vines and leaves. "Did you do that for me?"

"No, silly, I did it for John."

"What?" He looked up at her, his eyes wide in question and surprise.

"Just kidding. Of course, I did it for you. I wanted to honour your heritage as well...and your name has been written somewhere on my body for you to find."

His brow arced and a slow smile spread across his face. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

He began to lift her gown again and when he got to her middle, she raised her arms and Will tugged the gown up and over her head and dropped it next to her head scarf.

Her breasts, fuller now, were bound with soft linen, but she wore nothing else. Will looked in awe at her rounded belly—the place where their child grew. The child they'd created. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms about her waist, kissing her stomach.

Djaq rested her hands on his head, curling her fingers into his hair, and sighed. "Will, my love, come…" Reaching behind her, she took his hands. Then she stepped back and pulled him to his feet. She pulled off the linen from her upper body and divested Will of his tunic and reached for his breeches. Once they were both naked, she pulled him to the lavishly made-up pallet and lay down.

He tugged her over and up and she sat astride his thighs. His hands roamed over her and hers over him. Their gazes locked for several moments. His hands gripped her hips and guided her onto his erection, settling her snugly against himself until he was fully sheathed in her warm heat.

"Will..." she said on a sigh. His fingers tightened on her flesh.

With her strong thighs, she lifted herself partially off him and proceeded to ride him, grinding against him when they were flush once more. He bent his arms, offering her his hands for leverage and she laced her fingers through his. She established a slow, almost lazy, rhythm that sent delightful sensations rippling through her, until he too became caught up in the moment and met her downward glide with an upward thrust. They continued coming together and withdrawing, the pace increasing until they both were panting for breath.

"Djaq..." Will said.

Her name on his lips in that low pleading voice sent her soaring into climax. Her body spasmed around his and pulled a lusty groan from him as he bucked upwards twice and found his own release. She fell in a languid heap onto his chest, kissing the moist skin. "I love you, my husband."

"I love you, too."

**~~~O~~~**

**To be continued...**


	7. By Order of the King

**Characters/Pairings**:Much/Carter, Richard, Robin  
**Rating:** R  
**Genre:** Drama, hint of slash

**Summary**: Robin is anxious to return home but King Richard has one set of final orders for Much and Carter and for him before they begin their trek back toward England.

* * *

**Chapter 7: By Order of the King  
**by**  
JAGNikJen **and **RobinFanatic**

**~~~O~~~**

The king's camp began to stir as the sun crested the hills to the east. Much liked this time of day, especially when it followed nights not interrupted by the incessant beat of Saracen drums. He liked this time of day when he could lay next to Carter and listen to the sound of his steady breathing, when he could spoon his lover's body and feel the heat from their bare flesh. He liked this time of day when moments like these let him forget the war beyond the walls of their tent, let him dream of England.

Much nuzzled Carter's shoulder, closed his eyes, and thought of Bonchurch. There were footsteps outside but he imagined them to be servants beginning their daily chores at the lodge. The animals that brayed roamed through tall grasses in the pasture nearby, not the corral. The morning breeze carried tantalizing smells from the cooks' fires and made his stomach growl, reminding him of aromas drifting to the bedroom from downstairs.

"Sir Carter? Lord Much?" a young voice called.

Much drew in a deep breath then sighed. That wasn't one of the servants from Bonchurch. He pulled up on one elbow. "Yes?"

"The king commands your presence."

Carter stretched and Much leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "Awfully early," he grumbled.

"I'll let you tell him that." Grinning, Carter stood up and stretched again, every muscle in his body inviting hands to touch.

Much tossed Carter's leggings to him instead.

"Spoilsport."

Both men laughed and Carter extended his hand to help Much up. They dressed and hurried toward the king's pavilion, picking up their pace when Richard appeared, arms crossed, in front of his tent. He raised his head when he spotted them and then retreated back inside.

Carter and Much were admitted and found the king with both hands pressed to the edge of the table. He studied the map there, eyes fixated on the red lettering that marked the reason for this holy war: Jerusalem.

Much had seen the well-worn map dozens of times but usually watched from his station with other squires. He'd rarely been close enough to see the intricate designs drawn by the cartographer or the handwritten scribbles that King Richard or other members of his inner circle might have added.

A small carved block representing the Crusader army rested atop the map near Acre. The king dragged it south along the coast, then east.

Carter cleared his throat. "You asked to see us, Your Majesty?"

"I will miss you on our trek to the holy city. May winter be kind so your trip is free of hazards." The king straightened and looked at them. He pursed his lips and pointed, deep in thought, counting off three fingers. "Not two, but perhaps three or four months?"

Carter's face remained neutral. "Your Majesty?"

"Perhaps Jerusalem will be in our hands by the time you return."

"I didn't know we were going anywhere," Much said, confused.

The king threw him a small frown. "Had I not made that clear? Did I dream that conversation? Perhaps there was too much wine, too much..._celebration_...after your carpenter friend's wedding?"

Much swallowed, risking a sidelong glance at Carter.

Even Carter's brow was furrowed. "Sire, I must confess that-"

The king chuckled and stopped Carter with a wave of his hand. "You will depart with Locksley."

"Go with Robin?" Much asked. The thought of returning to England struck him with conflicting emotions. He could be there for Robin. Help him work through his grief - if he could get him to talk.

_Would he let you? Has he ever let you?__  
_  
Carter's words rang true but that would not mean he couldn't try. Much looked from the king to Carter. That Wilton calm, that unreadable mask had returned.

"Robin is anxious to return to England. You and Legrand will accompany him as far as Poitiers," the king said. "You will carry my personal greetings and other...sensitive...information to my mother."

Much tried to imitate Carter's Wilton face and hoped he hid his disappointment. He missed home. Still, Poitiers was a good journey, and it was away from the blinding sun and hot desert sands. And the war.

"As you wish, Sire," Carter replied. "Though would it not be best to serve you here in the coming campaign? Legrand or Lord Locksley could-"

"Her Majesty's reply must make its way back into my hands, milords. I will trust no one but you to fulfill this important mission. And intercepting messages is sport to our enemies. The more players we have, the better."

"Then to Poitiers and back, Sire." Carter smiled, nodding from the king to Much.

"Good." The king wandered back to his desk and sat down. He picked at the remains of his breakfast and regarded the two knights thoughtfully.

Much shifted nervously, waiting to be dismissed. He'd caught the little sparkle in the king's eyes. Apparently he wasn't ready to let them leave.

Richard popped a couple of dates in his mouth and practically swallowed them whole. "I do have one more job for you before you go," he finally said. "If you depart immediately, you'll be back by nightfall tomorrow. You must tell no one..."

**~~~O~~~**

"Birds?" Much shook his head as he grabbed the extra waterskin on the chest by his bunk. "We're meeting a man about a pair of birds."

Carter tried to remain straight-faced but the idea sounded so funny coming from Much that a chuckle slipped his lips. He cleared his throat. This was serious business - they were serving as King Richard's envoys. "They are hawks. Special hawks. A peace offering for Saladin."

Much tossed his pack over his shoulder. His new shield hung on a post by his bunk. He rubbed his hand across the smooth metal. "I know that's what the king said but-"

"We have our orders." Carter walked to the entrance to the tent.

"I know..."

Carter turned. "What? What is it?"

"We're leaving for Poitiers in a couple of days." Much pursed his lips. "I was hoping to help John watch Allan. I know he's going to be all right, but we'll be gone for a while and...well, I just wanted to sit there, be there if he wakes up."

Carter's expression softened. That's why he loved this man. "You know you can't be there all the time. We'll have a chance to say good-bye. You can spend some time with him then. And you trust Djaq - she'll tell Allan how his friends watched over him."

"That's true." Much stood unmoving, staring past Carter.

Carter knew there was more. "And?"

Much closed his eyes before meeting Carter's gaze. "I'm worried about Robin. We both know he's only waited this long to leave because of Will and Djaq's wedding. That, and Allan's condition, has been the only thing keeping him here. The only thing that has given him a chance to think about someone other than Marian." He fisted both hands, brought them to his mouth then raked his hands through his hair. "You didn't see him...see his face...when he was looking for Gisborne. When he saw Marian's body..." Much's voice trailed off. He's being reckless...and he's hurting. I want to help him, talk to him."

Carter reminded himself that he had to accept Much's concern for Robin. He couldn't tell him how much he dreaded the time they'd be cooped up on the ship to Marseilles. On the other hand, they'd leave behind the chants of Saracen warriors and the blood and stench of battle. He'd not have to worry that a Saracen sword might take his lover's life.

Carter wandered back to where Much stood, placing his hands on Much's shoulders. "When we leave for England, you'll have weeks to keep his company."

"I suppose you are right."

Carter's arms slid around Much. He pulled him close knowing the journeys ahead still might be fraught with danger.

When they let go of each other, Much adjusted the new sword at his waist, retrieved his shield, then raised it in a sign of confidence. "Let's go."

**~~~O~~~**

From his position at the opening of the mess tent, Robin watched Carter and Much go into the king's tent and come out again a short time later. They headed in the direction of the sleeping tents and returned in Robin's direction within a few minutes, looking as if they were going somewhere. Their official Private Guard tunics gleamed in the sunlight as they procured horses from the corral and rode off in high spirits, engaged in playful banter.

Jealousy and anger churned in Robin's stomach. Didn't anyone care about him or Marian? Did no one besides him want justice on her behalf? Did no one just want to go home? He spat in the sand. It seemed not.

If he was not mistaken, Djaq and Will would not be returning to England. Allan was not going anywhere any time soon. So that left John and himself.

He just wanted to go home. He wanted Vaizey dead and he wanted him dead as soon as possible. He no longer cared if Nottingham was razed. He would see to it that the people of Nottingham were relocated to the local villages or to wherever else they wanted to go. But Vaizey would die one way or another.

And how long did he have to wait? Hadn't he waited long enough? Robin pushed off the support pole and headed for the king's tent. Perhaps His Majesty would grant him leave to go. Robin was allowed in without issue.

"Robin, what can I do for you?" The king rose from his throne and approached Robin with a fading smile. "You look a little out of sorts..."

"I am a lot out of sorts, Sire. I wish to go home and yet I've had to wait. First for Will and Djaq's wedding and now for your release. I do not understand why you have not sent me on my way. There is nothing keeping me here save your word. When do I get to go home?"

Richard offered him a sympathetic smile and curled an arm around his shoulder. "Soon. I promise. Much and Carter will return by tomorrow evening in time for the festivities and then you all may take your leave the following morning."

Robin stiffened at both the contact and the king's words. "What? Sire-why must I wait for them? Surely I am capable of getting home without a chaperon."

"I think not." Richard's voice took on that steely tone that meant he'd been displeased and Robin's stomach turned. "I have heard of your recent actions in Acre, Robin, and I must say, I'm disappointed in you."

"When will Much learn to keep his mouth shut?" Robin muttered, shaking his head.

"It was not Much, so do not think to chastise him upon your next meeting. He is more loyal than any man deserves and you'd do well to leave him be." The king tightened his grip around Robin's shoulders and then allowed his hand to slide down Robin's arm and come to rest on the curve of Robin's hip and arse. The king's fingers made circles there. Robin immediately felt itchy all over.

"Carter, then. Much tells him everything." Despite the urge, Robin resisted shrugging off the king's arm. The touch of others, even that of the king, irritated him, physically, as if he were being burned or poked with a million hot needles on his skin. If the king thought to take Robin to his bed, as he suspected the king was considering, Robin would have a very difficult time not insulting him by running screaming from the tent.

"Nay, 'twas not Carter, either. Do you forget who I am, Robin? There are many who curry my favor by reporting what they see. I have eyes and ears all over the place. You ought to know that by now." The king released him, but turned Robin so they faced one another. He looked deep into Robin's eyes as if searching for something.

Robin nodded and held his majesty's gaze. He did know it. But it didn't lessen Robin's feelings toward either Carter or Much at the moment. "Did you have to send them out now? Surely there are other knights perfectly capable of completing such a short-lived mission."

Richard smiled. "Well, it wasn't really a mission. I sent them off to celebrate their union. Alone."

"What?" Robin's tone bordered on insubordination and he knew it as soon as the word passed his lips.

Richard lifted a brow.

Robin hung his head. "Apologies, Majesty, I am not myself and I don't understand why I have to continue to wait. I can take my men and go." His man, actually. Just him and John.

"No. You must all travel together. First to France and then to England. I cannot chance anything happening to any of you. There is safety in numbers and right now we must do all we can to keep you safe."

"I do not care about my safety. I care about getting home." _I care about justice being served. To hell with the rule of law and due process._

"Then think of your men, if not of yourself. I know you are not so consumed with grief and anger as to put your men at risk. You will not leave until morning after next."

Robin looked to the ground again. "Majesty, please."

"No, Robin, I have spoken. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"Good. Dismissed."

Once Robin cleared the flap of the king's tent he stormed off in search of someone to spar with or a great deal of alcohol. He needed to purge his anger and exhaust himself enough to sleep or get drunk enough to pass out.

**~~~O~~~**

Much and Carter had made this trek south of Acre before, though that had been with a few thousand other men and all the equipment that accompanies an army on the move. Those were punishing journeys, slow crawls advancing only a few miles a day. Fending off Saracen attackers who swooped down from the hills at all hours of the day and night. Carter pushed back the memory of one attack that nearly cost Much his life. At least this time, they travelled with little cause for worry. Saladin's troops were further inland, and the Crusader army controlled the roads as far south as Arsuf.

The palatial home of Sheik Abdullah Rahman Suliel withstood both Saracen and Crusader invasions for over fifty years. Perched on a promontory overlooking the sea, it was an isolated gem that had hosted both Saladin and Richard the Lionheart at different times. As the land exchanged hands as far back as the Second Crusade, so did the home, serving as temporary headquarters for many leaders. And for whatever reason, none had ordered its destruction.

An older gray-haired servant with rounded sun-washed cheeks and a large nose admitted the two knights into the home's expansive foyer. He escorted them to the dining room and indicated his master urged them to enjoy the lavish spread of food and drink there.

"Is our host not joining us?" Carter asked when he noticed only two places set at the massive table that would easily sit thirty people.

"No," the servant replied.

"But he is expecting us?"

The old man pointed toward the fare. Carter looked at Much and nodded. "Hungry, Lord Much?"

Much tipped his head from side to side, his hands planted at his waist. "I would not be against having a bite to eat," he replied, approaching the table with an air of indifference that almost made Carter laugh.

Three types of bread, beef and lamb, bowls of dates and pomegranates, rice, and vegetables. A meal fit for a king. Or two knights. Two knights about to embark on a long journey where they would only dream of a meal like this.

Sitting across from each other at one end of the table, they filled their plates with food and their time with idle chatter. Carter steeled himself, ultimately waiting for Robin's name to come up in the conversation. When that did not happen, he couldn't decide whether that was good or bad. How could he still feel so insecure, especially after last night? He brought the wine to his lips, watching Much over the top of the goblet. When he placed the drink back down, he held onto the stem, his eyes intent on the ring Much had given him. He was being foolish. Wasn't their bond like the gold encircling his finger? An unbroken circle...solid, enduring, never-ending...

"...winter marches south - I won't miss that," Much was saying in between bites. "Though I am surprised the king doesn't feel he needs us...well, you."

"Us," Carter reiterated, delighted to see the smile that washed across Much's face. "And he does need us. Just not in the Holy Land for a short while."

Much sat back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. His eyes suddenly filled with a mischievous glint. "I suppose he has a few other good knights."

Carter chuckled. "Though none as cunning or strong-"

"Nor brave," Much added.

"And handsome." Carter winked.

"Well, there is Legrand, though he'll be travelling with us, too."

"You think Legrand is-"

"Of course!" Heat rose in Much's cheeks. "Don't you?" He sat back up and stuffed another chunk of beef in his mouth.

"Just a bit hungry, eh?" Carter watched as Much savoured his meal. "I'd say you've had enough for an army."

Before Much could utter a denial, the servant reappeared and placed a platter of cheese and fruit in the center of the table. Much's eyes bulged at the sight of more food, but it was the purple leafy frond that garnished the plate that made the edges of his mouth curl. He picked up the stem and breathed in its scent.

Carter and Much had come from Aquitaine with lavender, including dried bouquets Queen Eleanor had them deliver to her son. But Carter had never seen it at the markets in Acre. He was intrigued that their host had it amongst his herbs. It evoked such special memories for him and made his heartbeat quickened. How long had it been since he'd stood in the pouring rain in a field of lavender and declared his love for Much?

The old man silently refilled their goblets with wine and set the pitcher down next to Carter. "Will there be anything else, milords?"

"Your master?" Carter asked.

"Yes. I have a letter for you."

"A letter? Where is Sheik Suleil?"

"I was told this would explain everything, milords," he said, handing Carter a small sealed parchment.

Carter recognized the embossed lettering on the seal. "This is from King Richard."

The servant nodded.

"What does it say?" Much asked.

"If you require nothing further I shall see you in the morning," the servant said. "There is more food in the kitchens should you need it."

Carter quickly scanned the note, his expression unreadable.

"In the morning?" Much frowned. Sunset was hours away. "Carter? What is in the letter from the king?"

Carter held two fingers up to Much then turned to the servant. "Thank you. You may go now."

The old man bowed and left one anxious-looking newly-knighted fellow leaning forward on the table awaiting to hear the contents of the king's message. Carter held his countenance, listening as the old man padded across the marble flooring in the foyer and left the house.

"Well?" Much asked, finally noticing the mischievous twinkle in Carter's blue eyes.

Carter picked up the largest strawberry from the fruit platter and placed it between his lips. He rose from his chair then leaned over the table, shoving plates aside as he dragged himself across it. He was so close that Much could smell the sweet fragrance of the berry in his mouth.

"What...are you doing?" Much whispered. He looked past Carter, his face flustered, as if he expected the servant might return. "Where is the man with the hawks?"

Carter slipped his hand round Much's neck, pulling him closer. He pressed his lips to Much's, forcing Much to open his mouth to share the strawberry. Juice dribbled down their chins as they kissed and devoured the fruit.

Much sighed as the kiss ended. "What is going on? I mean, I know what you just did...and I know that look in your eyes. The birds?"

Carter chuckled. "There are no hawks. There is no mission."

"Then what did the king intend-" Much's eyes grew wide. "Oh...that sly lion. He set us up, didn't he?"

"I'm not complaining. Are you?" Carter twisted round and sat up. He faced Much, his legs dangling over the edge of table. "His letter says this was the only gift he could give us. A little time - completely alone." Carter ran a finger across Much's forehead then traced down his temple and along his clean-shaven jaw line, a look he'd taken on the morning of his knighting ceremony.

Much pressed his cheek into Carter's hand, a throaty sigh escaping from his lips. "We have this whole house to ourselves?" he asked.

Before Carter could respond, Much's fingers clenched his tunic. He dragged him closer and their lips met again, mouths and tongues hot, breaths short, rasping, needy. Hands found their way beneath his clothing. Carter's heartbeat quickened when Much stood and slowly pushed his tunic up and over his head. Much reached past him, grasping a handful of strawberries. He crushed them against Carter's chest, painting his muscles with bits of the red fruit. Pushing Carter flat against the table, Much began to nibble on his artwork. He suckled at nipples glistening with luscious juice then brushed wet kisses up his chest and across his shoulders.

Fire grew in Carter's belly, an ache that swept every nerve in his body. He groaned as Much palmed the growing hardness beneath his leggings.

Much's hot breath tickled his neck. "If I'd known you were dessert, I wouldn't have had so much of that beef," he whispered.

**~~~O~~~**

**To be continued...**


	8. When All Is Over Bar The Shouting

**Characters/Pairings:** Much/Carter, Robin, Little John, Legrand, Will/Djaq  
**Rating: **PG13  
**Genre:** Drama

**Summary**: The gang prepares to return to England but are stormy waters ahead?

* * *

**Chapter 8: When All Is Over Bar the Shouting  
**by**  
DarkenTwisted**

**~~~O~~~**

It was a night for celebrating and a night for mourning and for either, drinks were to be toasted. The fine feast the king provided to his soldiers and his country's new emissaries was grand but the wine from His Majesty's own vintner was the real prize of the evening. The drink provided a warm glow to the party.

When the tournament started, no one could say. Legrand and John sparred first, their hands grasped firmly as muscles bulged in their forearms. Neither man broke a sweat as their eyes locked intently. They were in all their glory and yet something else stirred within them as well. Legrand was momentarily caught off guard. He lost himself in his opponent's eyes and felt the back of his hand meet rough wood.

John cheered, "That's one for the outlaws and none for the nobles."

Carter proved no match for the giant peasant as he too went down. Shirts were lost as man after man sparred against John in play. Much surprisingly gave him a good fight as his stealthy upper body strength honed by years as a servant and squire caused the larger man to break into a sweat. John was unused to arm wrestling left handed but decided to give his old friend the advantage. It was an advantage Much took well. Much almost won but at the last second he looked up to see his former master's eyes focused intently on his naked bicep and the tattoo that was a near perfect replica of his lover's. The symbol of pride became a badge of shame under Robin's gaze and Much blushed as John pinned his arm to the table.

John looked surprised. "You let me win, fat face?"

Much smiled shyly and mumbled as he slid away avoiding Robin's half drunken glare. "As if anyone could beat you, badger beard."

John smugly hoisted his hard won tankard as he made the rounds with his friends. He stood next to Djaq who was still trying to console her husband after beating him at arm wrestling. "It was just lucky, Will."

"Beaten by my own wife," Will grumbled. "I'm going to be kicked out of the gang for this."

"No lad, we'll just never let you live it down," John chided. He offered the young Saracen woman his cup. "One sip...it will be good for the little one." Little John's sotto voice slurred as he placed his large hand gently on the expectant mother's tummy with a fascination one would give to a newborn kitten. "Hello my brave little outlaw. Someday you too will grow up to be big and strong like your mother and beat your dad at arm wrestling."

Will snorted at the remark and looked into the bottom of his cup.

Djaq giggled as John continued, "I can't wait till you arrive. Your Uncle John will take you into the forest and show you everything you need to know to survive." He sneered in Robin's direction. "And what mushrooms to pick."

Everyone laughed except for Legrand who was lost in the bottom of his own cup with embarrassing memories.

"Sorry, John, I have to go back and tend to Allan." Djaq smiled apologetically.

Will clutched his wife's arm. "No, tonight we rest and enjoy the company of our friends. They'll be leaving soon. Rahiim is tending to Allan."

"We'll see them tomorrow at Bassam's," Djaq said. "Rahiiim is old, Will. He needs his sleep, too." She looked down at Will's grasp. "You do not need to be so protective."

"You are my wife...carrying my child." Will's eyes sparked with jealousy.

"But I am not your property. Allan is our friend and I want him to get well," Djaq argued.

Will sputtered, "Allan-"

"Almost gave his life in exchange for your king's," Djaq said. "He has let go of all that was bad in his past, my love. Why can't you?"

Will's expression echoed the hurt in his wife's eyes. "I...I do...I mean...I did forgive him, but you and Allan..."

John and Djaq's gazes fell expectantly on Will's face for an answer but he looked away helplessly. "Fine. But we will both go..." His voice trailed off as a commotion grew between Carter and Robin across the room.

John suddenly stopped listening to Djaq and Will as another conversation drifted to his ear. He frowned and started to walk over to Much and Legrand when the argument between Robin and Carter became more heated. He looked over at his friends and then back as he saw Robin crease Carter's jaw. "This, I do not like."

**~~~O~~~**

Robin resented almost everything and everyone around him. He wanted to stay in the tent but Djaq had urged him to come with her soft smile. His head hurt. Every time he closed his eyes he saw white sand and red blood - too much blood - her blood. He looked at Much. The tattoo was new but he remembered where he had seen it before. There was a mirror image of it on Carter's arm. The sudden realization made him angry. Nothing was his anymore, not his birthright, nor Marian, not even Much. Head lowered, eyes narrowed, he turned toward Much's lover. His anger shifted from the tattoo to the man wearing it.

Carter lit the fuse when he walked over to Robin and sat down. "Have I done something to upset you?"

The outlaw nodded toward his friend talking to the blond giant as he put back on his tunic. "When did you make him get that?"

Carter was confused at first. "Get what?" Realization sank in quickly with the tone of voice and the glint in his friend's green eyes. He tensed for an argument.

Robin's sharp words found their mark as sure as any arrow he had ever fired. "Do you always mark your property so boldly, Lord Wilton?"

"Much is not my property." Carter measured his tone as he steadied for battle. "Unlike you, I have never had anything but the best intentions for him."

"Then it is the mark of a concubine is it?" Robin continued. "I should have never let him follow you back to war. Let you use him like you have, turn him against his friends."

_"You_ think _I_ am using Much?" Carter spat defensively as he half-rose from his seat and stood nose to nose with the archer. "You enslaved him, dragged him to war as a boy, and forced that gentle soul to fight beside you in battle." He slammed his cup down and leered. "Tell me, Robert of Locksley, what of all those nights in Acre when you used him in place of your precious Marian?"

Robin looked shocked. "He told you that? I never..."

"Much tells me everything," Carter replied. "He talks to me and I listen. That's more than you ever did for him."

The roar of blood filled Robin's ears as rage set his jaw. "Much knows I..."

Carter cut short his answer. "Do _you_ know, Robin? Do you _really _know how much it hurt him to leave you in that forest? How he cried at the thought of never seeing you again? I gave him everything-position, new clothes, a new life, but he still craves the one thing I can never give him and obviously what you can't either...your love."

"I love Much as I would love a brother, almost as much as I did Marian."

"You loved Marian?" Carter said in disgust. "Well, that was her undoing, wasn't it? No one can survive the glory that is Robin Hood." Carter delivered the coup de grâce with a sneering grin. "Good thing I came along and rescued Much from loving you when I did or he might be dead in the sand beside her."

Robin let out a roar and swung the first blow.

**~~~O~~~**

Legrand glanced across the tent at his oversized friend and his two companions. It hurt to see John more each day and even the alcohol did little to dull the pain. The gaze failed to go unnoticed.

"That look..." Much frowned as he searched the big man's face in front of him. "I know that look. You and John _are _more than just friends."

"_Mon dieu_, do you ever shut up?" Legrand was barely listening to his drinking partner prattle on, but now Much was digging under his skin and playing with raw nerves. He didn't want to go there. "You are drunk, _mon ami_. You know not what you say."

"I know John." Much blinked, unswayed by the obvious annoyance he was causing the other man. "He had to leave his wife and pretend to be dead. He didn't know she was carrying his child. And even once she knew he was still alive, she took their son and left John for another man. His son will call that man father instead...she wounded him deeply."

"John told me about that, Much," Legrand said.

"What I'm trying to say is that I love John like I would my own father." Much looked away. "Well, like I would have if I had known him." He got back to the point. "What I'm trying to say is you be careful with him." The new knight slurred, his soft voice cracking with emotion. "He is a big man but...but he also has a big heart. If you break it..." Much started waving his finger in front of Legrand's face.

"There will never be a chance of that, _mon ami_." Legrand looked up from his drink and Much saw the pain in his eyes. "However, there is every certainty he will break mine."

"You _love _him." Much's lip quivered at the realization. "Does John...?"

"_No_. And he never will." Legrand glared murderously into Much's eyes as he gripped his arm. "What I have with that man is all I will ever have, and I will not risk losing that by scaring him away."

Much nodded, rubbing the newly bruised skin. "He will never hear it from me." He placed his hand on the other man's broad shoulder. "I am sorry."

"What you have with Carter...always treasure it." Legrand's expression of sadness changed as he looked in shock over Much's shoulder. "That is if he survives the night."

Much whiplashed around to see Robin propel himself into Carter's midsection, sending them both over a table onto the floor. "Robin! Carter! Stop that... immediately!"

John and Legrand struggled to pull the two lords apart. Both men stared daggers at each other as they fought to free themselves from their captors for another row.

"You are not worthy of saying her name!" Robin spat blood as he talked.

"Nor you his!" Carter spouted back as his swollen eye threatened to close.

"I have every right to say his name. He was my friend before you turned him-"

"No, Robin! You gave up that right when you-"

"Both of you! This is not the time or place!" Much stood between the two men, his heart pounding. "I don't believe this. You are noblemen! This is our last celebration with our friends here and you choose to make it about yourselves!" He faced Robin. "No one has turned me. I am your friend, I will always be your friend, but things have changed. You must accept that." He looked at his lover. "Carter, I am grateful to you...for everything but not tonight. I am ashamed." He glared. "I am no longer anyone's property. You more than anyone else taught me that. I am my own man now and I will not have you two fighting over me like a prized pig! You both disgust me!"

"Much..." Carter grasped the distraught knight's arm. "I'm sorry."

"No Carter, I'm sorry." He nodded. "I would have expected such behaviour from Robin but not you too." Much sighed heavily and slightly staggered out of the room as everyone watched.

"I will go after him," Djaq said sadly. "He is too drunk to be left alone."

"No, let him go," John reasoned. "I will see to him after we get these two sorted."

"No need, John. I was just leaving." Robin yanked his arm away. "I know when I am not welcome."

"Let me go! I need to see to Much," Carter pulled against Legrand.

"Not now, cher, we need to get that eye looked at. John will see to Much." The larger man forced the smaller knight to sit as Djaq held a damp cloth to his eye.

**~~~O~~~**

The cool desert night air made his head swim as he looked out into the darkness. He replayed the scene in in his inebriated mind and blinked back the wave of sadness that overtook him.

Much felt the presence at his back before he heard the footfalls behind him. He wiped his tears on his sleeve. "I would rather be alone, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind," John answered kindly. "But I know you don't want to be alone."

"So you know what is best for me as well then."

John shook his head softly. "You are your own man, Much." Without another word he came up behind the new knight and embraced him in his large arms.

Much grasped John's hands and wept openly. "I travelled thousands of miles away for him, fought a war for him, begged the king for his freedom, and now all I want is to be free of him myself."

"You know Robin means well. He's hurting, Much. Marian..."

"Is dead, John. She's dead and I'm scared for him. The last time he thought he lost her, he almost destroyed himself." Much shook his head. "I can't help him. The more I try the more I feel I am losing myself, losing Carter."

"Then stop trying. Go to Carter, tell him how you feel..."

Much shook his head. "I cannot, not after tonight. I'm not ready. I'm so angry at him. I thought I knew him. I thought he was different but he only wants to own me as Robin did." He turned in the larger man's arms and sobbed against his shoulder "I can't go back to that tent tonight, John. Can I stay with you?"

The large outlaw cradled the smaller man against him. "If you wish..." Soft snores and Much's sudden dead weight made him chuckle. "C'mon then lad, off to bed." John slung the passed out nobleman's body carefully over his shoulder and made his way into the night.

**~~~O~~~**

**To be continued...**


End file.
